


craving for days to misbehave with you

by cyclogenesis (addictedkitten)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:36:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addictedkitten/pseuds/cyclogenesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Niall hook up at a wedding. It's not their first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	craving for days to misbehave with you

The champagne buzz is as familiar as the twist of Harry’s curls around Niall’s fingers and the hot skin of the back of Harry’s neck where Niall’s fingertips press to it. The world’s gold and woozy when Niall’s eyes open up so he just shuts them again, trusting Harry to keep him in the right place, with the curve of his arse pressed to the edge of the marble bathroom counter and Harry between his legs, Harry’s mouth on his, Harry’s hands slipping down the back of his trousers. There’s a blank space between where Niall swam up from a champagne drowning on the dance floor (Who’d he even been dancing with? Everyone, a blur of faces) and somehow ended up here, but Niall knows himself, he’s well-acquainted with Niall Horan, he is, so it probably went stumble off the floor, curl a hand into Harry’s collar, and drag him up to somewhere they could be alone, and somewhere in that glittering imagined memory he’d kissed Harry again for the first time in ages. Good for him, then. Better to pull a friend than a stranger, Niall’s always thought. Niall’s not meant to be the one on the gossip pages anyway.

Harry drags his teeth along Niall’s lower lip and Niall’s tongue flicks out after to chase the touch of Harry’s mouth. Harry teases back though, out of reach so Niall has to open his eyes again, let the light in slow through his eyelashes so he only gets a bit at a time, Harry’s kissed pink mouth first, then his flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, mussed hair and open collar and all of him, the whole of Harry lit by the softly flattering bathroom light. Niall could snap a picture right now, show the gossip rags what it is they’re really missing, show them the good stuff. Niall licks his lips, watching Harry swallow.

Harry laughs a little, shocked-like, his eyes going greenly from Niall’s mouth and over the rest of his face and back. “You’re gagging for it, aren’t you Nialler,” Harry says, slow and low, not even really a question. Niall wasn’t before, really, that’s not how he’d have phrased it but now the words are out there Niall thinks he might be. Yeah, he’s settling into it, he’s gagging for it. Good then, because if that’s what he is, then he can go on and hop up a little and perch on the counter, slip his foot round the back of Harry’s thigh and bring Harry’s body back into his, tuck the tips of his fingers into the waist of Harry’s trousers and feel at the shape of his hipbones.

“Yeah, ‘m gagging for it,” Niall says, a beat too late or maybe just on time, hard to tell with the way things are moving, all slow, like time’s drunk too. “Give it to me,” he adds, because a lad can say things like that, he can, when he’s gagging for it. 

“‘Cause you’re drunk,” Harry says, but it’s a bit vague because Harry’s not sober either. He’s got that ruffled look to him and it’s not solely down to Niall’s ravishing him, least not yet. Niall brings his hands up to touch Harry’s face, hold him still and make him look Niall in the eye, but instead it seems like a nicer idea to tuck Harry’s curls behind his ears, stroke his thumbs along Harry’s cheeks, all hot and flushed. “That’s why you want me,” Harry says, with some difficulty, like he had a script but forgot who was supposed to say which lines. Niall curls one hand into a fist, drags it down the curve of Harry’s neck, spreads his hand back out so he can feel the skin at Harry’s collarbone, warm inside his shirt when Niall explores inward.

“I want you ‘cause I want you,” Niall says, the words thick in his throat, “it’s ‘cause I’m drunk that I’m taking you.”

Niall swears he sees Harry’s pupils dilate at that, like a cat right before it pounces, and that’s it, Harry’s gone then like Niall knew he would be. Harry likes being taken. Harry likes sweet words and being told he’s doing a good job and he likes being touched and stroked, he likes kissing and pressing up close and he’s never been less than a quality shag, not as long as Niall’s been fucking him which has been longer than Niall really likes to consider. Been awhile since last time though. Too long for Niall’s taste. Niall licks his lips, feels the absence of Harry’s mouth on his and fixes it with a hand firm in Harry’s collar, pulling him back in. 

There’s no hesitation now, just Harry’s mouth open and forceful against his own, licking in, his hands firm on Niall’s jaw and body moving in so Niall can wrap his legs a bit better around Harry’s waist, get their hips pressed together, cocks bumping up close too. It’s that, oddly, that slows them down a bit, luxuriating in it, the drag of their erections together with the friction of fabric between. Niall shifts his hips up into it, Harry working his down, and it’s easy, Niall had forgotten that part of it, maybe, how easy it is to pick something back up again. It had taken them awhile to get it right, back when they were sixteen and fumbling at each other with jittering fingers, clumsy mouths, but once they had it wasn’t like they could go back to what they’d been before. It was good and then it was great and then it was as close to perfect as they could probably get, least as far as Niall could guess. Harry taught Niall to be a good kisser. Niall’d be lying if he said he wasn’t grateful. 

“What d’you want?” Harry asks, barely taking a breath away to say it, the words slurring together so Niall needs to take a second to let his brain parse them out. Harry’s hands slip down to Niall’s arse, his only intent to haul him closer, but the harder press of their cocks together makes Niall’s train of thought skip ahead on the tracks, past all the closer stops. “I could go for a fuck,” Harry offers, looking down between them, his hand going first for his own button and zip, then seeming to change its mind and heading for where Niall’s shirt is already well untucked from his waistband. 

Niall licks his lips, watching Harry’s fingers work to get his cock out, trying not to get too distracted. It had been a bit annoying, early on, after they’d both first fucked each other and liked it rather well, how they’d argue over who got to bottom. Two rather lazy sods who genuinely enjoyed just lying there and taking it was a solid basis for a beautiful friendship but sometimes made negotiating sex rather more frustrating than necessary. There’d been a month or so when they were on a steady friends with benefits tip that they’d actually just flipped a coin to decide. 

“You know you’ve missed getting fucked,” Harry whispers, warm and close against the corner of his mouth, so it looks like there won’t be much in the way of argument tonight. Niall groans a little because that isn’t damned fair, Harry knows Niall’s weakness for - well, rather a lot of sex things, but in particular a line or two of dirty talk. “I could bend you over this counter, fuck you from behind. Watch us both in the mirror,” Harry says, punctuating it with a kiss to half of Niall’s mouth, a little flick of his tongue over Niall’s lower lip. “You know you’d like that,” Harry says, just a little bit sing-song, like he knows he’s got Niall beat and this is his triumphant number at getting what he wants. 

“ _You_ know I’d like that,” Niall says. “How ‘bout you get on with it, then?” 

“Missed my cock, have you?” Harry says, all lewd grins and waggling eyebrows as he gets Niall’s dick out of his pants, giving it a squeeze. Niall gasps at the feeling, at how Harry knows just how much pressure to put on him, and the smile drops off of Harry’s face, replaced by something more serious, intent. “S’pose I could say I’ve missed yours as well,” Harry says, contemplative now, giving Niall’s cock a friendly stroke. 

Niall tries to speak but swallows instead, needing another drink, something to wet his dry throat as he watches Harry’s hand move on him between them, an incongruous sight, familiar hands and a familiar touch but a foreign visual, the light wrong, the clothes wrong, the setting wrong. He hadn’t realized how closely he’d held the memory of the last time they’d done this until now, how he’d come back to it over and over until it was as easy to picture as a scene from a favorite movie. Now Harry touches him just the same, leans in to kiss Niall the same, and even with his eyelids drunk-heavy Niall still can’t quite be back there, in that hotel room on tour right before Harry had realized he really had a shot with Caroline and decided to make a go of that. 

They’re not there, and it was a long time ago, in this life where accolades keep stacking up and goals are met and his bank account grows at a breakneck pace, it might as well have been a hundred years ago. It doesn’t matter now. Now matters now. Niall fumbles at Harry’s zip and gets it down, gets a hand on what Harry has for him and feels the ground beneath his feet, the champagne in his blood, his opened collar doing little to calm the heat rising in him, and he’s here, Niall’s right here. “You need to give it to me right now,” Niall says, not even a plea but a statement of fact because if he doesn’t get Harry’s cock in him he’s going to - he doesn’t know, doesn’t want to think about it and won’t, because it’s not like Harry will deny him. Not now, anyway. 

“All right,” Harry says, thankfully far enough gone not to tease (he wouldn’t argue, not with an order), and he helps guide Niall around to bend over the sink, pulling Niall’s trousers and pants down and exposing him. It’s a hell of a picture, Niall’s face all flushed from the heat and the drink and touching, mouth open and cock out, already looking like he’s been worked over with Harry all glassy-eyed and red-cheeked behind him, fumbling to get a condom on. Harry bites his lip, crowds Niall up closer to the counter so he can reach past him to get at the hand lotion next to the sink. Niall’s hips and cock bump the cold marble countertop and he gasps at the shock of it, startling back into Harry. “Sorry, sorry,” Harry says, apologizing with words, with kisses to Niall’s throat and jaw, with fingertips parting the cheeks of Niall’s arse and rubbing between, slick and insistent over Niall’s hole, not teasing, just feeling. 

Niall closes his eyes, tilts his head to the side so Harry can better scrape his teeth over Niall’s neck, and focuses on the feel of Harry’s fingers there again, exploring what’s familiar, knowing where Niall’s sensitive, what makes him feel good. Harry knows Niall doesn’t like to be toyed with so he gets to it, sliding one finger in up to the knuckle and then pulling back (so he can watch) as he pushes a second finger in, opening Niall up. Niall spreads his legs, bows his head and shifts back into the push of those fingers. His breath comes out a shudder, sounding louder than it likely is in the small space. He never asked Harry why they didn’t pick things back up again after it ended with Caroline. Maybe Harry had been waiting for him to do something about it, or maybe Harry just also gets too far into his cups at weddings and finds himself lonely at the bottom of a glass. Niall didn’t ask then. He won’t ask now. 

Harry works a third finger in, really opening Niall up, and Niall can’t help but moan, pushing back into it, ready to brace his hands on the counter’s edge and get _fucked_. “Now’s good,” he tells Harry. Somehow it’s as intense a shock as the cold marble was when their eyes meet again in the mirror; it’s just been so long, so fucking long since they’ve done anything like this. Niall’d forgotten how Harry looked in this state, on edge and ready like this, ready to fuck and ready to come. Harry nods, fast like he’s forgotten words, and then presses up close, his front to Niall’s back, cock sliding between Niall’s cheeks for a few shivering seconds before Harry licks his lips and guides himself in. 

Niall wants to wince but doesn’t let himself; even with the preparation it’s still been awhile since he’s done this - since the last time with Harry, actually, and he usually doesn’t have enough patience for a vibrator when he’s just getting himself off. He’d nearly forgotten how it felt, being stretched open in a slow push, Harry more focused on pulling Niall back onto his cock then trying to force his way in. Niall tries to let himself settle into it, relax, feeling the hot sting of it inside like straight liquor swallowed too fast. It’s good, though, the burn, Harry filling him up, his hands tight at the counter’s edge, gripping white-knuckled to ground himself as Harry breathes out hot against his ear, asks if he’s okay. 

“Yeah,” Niall says, the word cracking a bit in the middle like ice in water. “Go on, do it,” he says, and Harry does, of course he does, he fucks Niall exactly how they like - how _they_ like, yeah, that perfect midpoint of Harry wanting to take his time and Niall wanting to be fucked hard, that lovely median where they meet and get what they want, Harry going in deep and steady with a rough little shove at the end to get him in all the way. Niall loves it, that extra little jab at his prostate that just about drove him mad when they first discovered it, and spent a whole free evening on the X Factor tour seeing how fast Harry could make Niall come fucking him just like that. When Niall looks straight ahead Harry’s looking at him already, and Niall wonders if Harry’s remembering that too, if he ever thinks about what they used to do or if the knowledge is just there, taking up space until Harry has use for it, until he needs to fuck Niall raw again. 

Harry gets a hand on him, tight around Niall’s cock the way he likes, which probably means Harry is close already. Time’s dragged in here, Niall doesn’t know how long it’s been but they must have been here awhile for Harry to be ready to come. “Harder,” Niall says, something wrecked in his voice already. “I want to come out of here stumbling.” 

“Christ,” Harry mutters, but then he kicks Niall’s legs a bit further apart, bending him farther over the counter so he can really start to fuck him. “I was right, you are gagging for it, how long’s it been since you had a cock in your arse? Feels like I’m taking your virginity all over again.”

“Awhile,” Niall gasps, batting at Harry’s hand so he can take care of his own erection, let Harry focus on reaming him. Which Harry does, taking his hips in hand and pounding forward with enough force that Niall thinks he can actually feel the results of all that time Harry’s spent in the gym lately. Niall pointedly doesn’t think about Harry’s follow-up comment, nor does he slip back into the memory of the two of them back in Ireland when Harry came to visit, how quiet they had to be in Niall’s bedroom, how careful Harry was with him and how the next night, Niall took the same care with him in turn. He doesn’t think about anything but Harry inside him now, fucking him just right, his own hand wanking himself off, how good it feels, because that’s the point, feeling good. 

Harry fucks him hard enough to hurt because he knows that’s how Niall likes it now, and Niall doesn’t stifle his moans because he knows Harry likes to hear them. Niall’s so close he can taste it, and then he thinks of kissing Harry again, letting Harry take his mouth like he’s taking Niall’s arse, and that’s it, the very thought of kissing Harry again has Niall coming against the countertop, spattering white over the cool surface of it. 

It looks kind of pretty, Niall thinks abstractly, before he flicks his eyes back up to watch Harry. They just stare at each other, long enough that Niall begins to wonder if it’s weird (though if there’s a time you’re allowed to look your fill at someone, it should be when they’re fucking you, shouldn’t it?), and then Harry shoves in somehow deeper than before and Niall’s knees buckle, only Harry’s sudden arm around his waist keeping him from falling as Harry stays deep inside and comes as well. 

Niall could unbelievably use another glass of champagne, or a cold glass of ice water, or the latter then the former. He tries to think of the future, tries to predict when this could happen again. He comes up blank, then sees a hundred scenarios at once, then it snaps to blankness again. Who the fuck knows. At least the alcohol made him bold enough to take what he wanted this time, best not to test any limits lest he find some. 

Harry pulls back, pulls out of Niall’s body and gets rid of the condom, tries to straighten himself up. He looks ruffled as fuck, ruffled _and_ fucked, and he wears it as well as he wears anything, which is to say better than most people could even dream of. Niall looks like he just ran a marathon. Well, maybe a sexy marathon. 

“That what you were hoping for when you dragged me in here?” Harry asks, his voice even slower than usual, that post-sex drawl that even now still makes Niall want to physically shiver, let the sound slide down his spine and settle at the base of it. 

“Yeah,” Niall says. He does up his trousers, finally turning to face Harry. “I just wanted you, that was all.” He swallows, looks down, then comes back up with his widest blue angel eyes at the ready. “You just looked so handsome, I couldn’t hold myself back.”

“Shut it,” Harry says fondly. He gives Niall a kiss, then another. Niall takes the third and makes it the longest kiss yet. It settles him back in his bones; he feels the soreness, the weariness. Maybe water and an early cab home would do it. Harry’s always lasted longer at celebrations than Niall has anyway. Harry holds out an arm, quirks a grin at him. “Can I help you stumble out? Liam’s probably asking himself where we’ve gotten off too, we could find him and horrify him with some terribly explicit answers.”

“Think I’ll head home, actually,” Niall says, shrugging but linking his arm with Harry’s, letting Harry guide him out. He’s not quite hobbling, but there’s a bit of a hitch there, easy enough to pass off as a drunken sway. “I’ll have the valet get me a cab.”

“Walk you out then,” Harry says, steering them toward the exit. Niall goes, pliant and willing to let Harry tend to him, as it pleases Harry to see that his partners leave safe and happy. He’s a good guy. He wouldn’t do anything deliberately hurtful, wouldn’t mess about with anyone’s feelings. He even waits until the cab comes, sends Niall off to it with a pat to the arse and a filthy smile. Niall waves goodbye, but he turns back before Harry’s out of sight. No use in dwelling on anything. 

Niall would be with Harry if he could, if it made sense with what their lives were and seemed like they would be for God willing a long while, but that’s hardly the admission it should be considering he’d be with any of the guys, even though none of them have quite the same sexual history that he and Harry share. He’d be Zayn’s boyfriend in a second and wake up late every rainy day with Zayn’s body tucked against his, that would be a proper good life. He’d fall asleep every night with Liam curled warm around him, hell, he’d shack up with Louis and kiss his smirking mouth and never go a day without a laugh so long as he lived. He’d really do it, he’d marry any of them, all of them, so it doesn’t mean anything that much more special that if Harry asked he would sneak into Harry’s room every night, and let Harry hold him when he got homesick, and let Harry be his home. It isn’t an idle thought but it’s not one deserving extra consideration either. Niall doesn’t like thinking about things he can’t have and he doesn’t have the patience to think too much on the future, wistfully or not. They have what they have and tonight he had Harry again with him, close like they used to be. And maybe again soon, or not soon, he’ll have that again. Maybe someday he’ll have everything he wants, but Niall’s not holding his breath. Not when he needs it to sing.


End file.
